


When We Were Young

by BarracudaHeart



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Childhood Trauma, Divorce, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarracudaHeart/pseuds/BarracudaHeart
Summary: A linear series of short drabbles devoted to the Frymans.





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles take place in relatively the same universe as "The Connie Maheswaran Fanclub" series by CoreyWW

Ronnie's first encounter with his new little brother didn't exactly go off on the right foot. He'd wound up with his glasses getting gripped off his face, and a tiny infant screaming and squawking in his ear. Even so, he wasn't discouraged. Not even close. 

“It was really smart of you to do that!”, he told the baby on his second visit, “For all you knew, I could have been a spy!”

Somehow the enthusiasm in his voice which had scared the infant on the first day fascinated him this second time, and he’d pawed a tiny hand on his big brother’s cheek with an inquisitive coo.

And just like that, Ronnie knew they had both found the best ally possible.


	2. The First Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for child abuse

 

Upon returning home, the infant, officially named Peter Dale Fryman Jr, found himself never out of the sight of his brother. The boy would be constantly underfoot of his parents as they tended to the newest addition to the family, wanting to help however he could.

 

In less than a month, Peter Dale was a name that was hardly used, Ronnie using ‘Peedee’ instead (it was easier). It was a cute name that even the parents began to use. At least...their father did.

 

Their mother hadn't exactly reacted all that much to having a baby. And whenever she did react, it wasn't in a good way.

 

Daddy had said that sometimes mothers were like that after having babies, but she'd be fine in a while.

 

But after a whole year things just got worse to the point both boys feared her, and Peedee’s natural infant habit to cry had to be quickly stifled before it enraged her.

 

Ronnie's habits were a little more difficult to control around her. He just wanted to help. 

 

She kept putting the baby on his stomach. Ronnie would keep flipping him onto his back. She didn't appreciate it, and told him to stop it.

 

“But you're supposed to keep them on their backs, mommy, they're-”

 

It had resulted in a bloody nose, and bawling, and a half hearted apology from her while she told him to get a tissue and not make a mess.

 

Ronnie's crying had made his little brother cry, which set their mother off again, and made the whole night worse.

 

Sniffling with swollen eyes, Ronnie cradled his little brother close to him as he sat in the crib to try and keep the boy safe. 

 

He knew he couldn't cry anymore or it would just make things worse.

 

He had to keep Peedee happy, so he wouldn't cry.

 

The less either of them cried, the safer they'd both be.

 

“I don't know why mommy's like this,” he murmured to Peedee, “But nobody's gonna hurt you. I promise.”


	3. Routine

Eventually Ronnie figured the best way to keep Peedee safe was to keep him in his room whenever possible. Their mother never bothered to look in there.

The boy would set his baby brother on his bed, the comforter soft and usually decorated with Star Wars or Pokémon, and would show off his toys. 

The infant always found the bright colors of all his big brother's things fascinating, always reaching his hand out to touch. Ronnie sensed his brother had a fondness for anything colored blue, since he would promptly teethe on those toys.

“Don't bite on Nightcrawler…”, Ronnie whined as he gently coaxed the action figure out of the baby's hand, and put it back in the box. When Peedee began to whine, wanting the pretty blue toy back, Ronnie quickly replaced it with a more suitable teething block.

“Wahn,”the baby mumbled around the toy, drool coming down his chin, saying his brother's name as best he could. 

Ronnie smiled, and kept his little brother entertained, showing off his toy collection.


	4. Words

“Potato,” Ronnie pointed to the vegetable in his hand.

 

“Payto,” Peedee held up another potato that he was offered to examine, then put his slobbery little mouth on it.

 

Since he was old enough to start learning words, Ronnie had been teaching him whatever and whenever he could. 

 

Mr. Fryman could tell what was going on,  and knowing that his little boy could teach his even littler boy anything and everything, monitored to make sure Ronnie wasn't going to teach Peedee anything overtly complex or something that he heard on TV and shouldn't be saying.

 

Peedee’s first word had been one he wasn't going to likely be saying much when he grew up: Mama. It had been said out of a slight plea for kindness, for attention, and he received no praise for it when she heard it. 

 

In his mind his first and favorite word was ‘Ronnie’.


	5. From the Stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of child abuse

Ronnie sat at the top of the stairs hearing his parents’ voices again.

 

“Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yank on his hair, he wasn't paying attention!”, he heard mother explain.

 

She ‘didn't mean’ a lot of things, Ronnie had grown used to this. 

 

“I gave you a three strike rule Julienne, I can't just let you get off the hook with this again-”

 

“Do you know how hard I work around here, Pete?? I come home tired and exhausted every day and come home to whiny and annoying brats of kids and I-”

 

“They're quiet as mice! You came home from your weekly social party or whatever it was yesterday and yelled at Ronnie for sitting too close to the TV!”

 

Ronnie remembered that. He wasn't even that close to the screen. He just wasn't sitting on the couch for it.

 

The arguing went on, the last thing Ronnie heard his father say was “You have a serious problem, Jules, and you gotta do something about it-”

 

“Maybe I'm not the one with the problem.”

 

Ronnie knew things wouldn't change, and as was routine, he tucked his little brother in, and stayed by his crib all night until he could safely go to sleep.


	6. Sleepover

 

“Sorry about this, Martha.  It's Jules again,” Peter apologized as he ushered his sons inside the woman's house after another argument that had gotten too agressive. 

 

“Don't even worry about it, “ she assured, “We love having Ronnie and the baby over... regardless of circumstance.”

 

“I'll be back to pick them up when she's gone to work in the morning,” he turned on his heel.

 

“What about you?”, Martha had asked, “Where are you going to go?”

 

“I have to go back,” he sighed, “I don't want to risk her wrecking the house or doing something to herself.”

 

“Alright,” Martha murmured, “If you need someplace to stay, just come back here.”

 

“Thanks, Martie, say hi to Dante for me,” Peter waved as he left.

 

The woman sighed, wondering how long he was going to keep this up. Was staying with someone like her worth all this?

 

Ronnie had made sure Peedee was asleep before he talked to Laramie about the chaos of that night.

 

Afterwards, when Ronnie was asleep, Laramie had gone downstairs and asked his mother why they couldn't just let Ronnie live with them forever and stay safe.

 

She wished she had an answer.


	7. The Bad Day

Ronnie's bad day had gone from bad to worse. 

 

He lost his only friend, betrayed by popularity and shallowness.

 

He'd come home crying and his mother yelled at him.

 

After dinner she yelled at him more, and he ended up with a cut on his nose.

 

He cried loudly into his pillow, prompting his little brother to approach him and slump onto him, rubbing his hands on his back in an attempt to comfort him.

 

“It's ok Ronnie,” the five year old mumbled, “I'll be your best friend now.”

 

The older one sniffled, “O-ok…”

  
Peedee hoped Lars would fall in a mud puddle and never get out.


	8. The Worse Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this drabble: Mentions of Child Abuse

Peter had been out when he received the telephone call.

 

Emergency services had contacted him about an incident at his home and that he was needed at the hospital right away.

 

And just as he was getting to the car, another phone call from the house.

 

He heard bawling on the other line, and his heart immediately jumped, “Peedee?! Son, what happened?”

 

“M-m-mom hurt Ronnie- there was blood!!! A lot of blood!!”, the little boy was struggling to breathe as he sobbed on the other line, an absolute mess, “There was a loud noise and blood!!”

 

Peter's whole body froze and he felt a sudden sharp stab in his gut. The first thing his mind jumped to was the lockbox with the gun in it. The one Julienne had the key to.

 

He dropped the phone, a hand covering his mouth, “Oh...god,” he murmured into his hand, “She couldn't have.”

 

The hospital just then called before he could lose it and sob. “Mr. Fryman? Your son wants you.”

 

“Y-You mean he's alive?”

 

“Oh yes, of course.”

 

He nearly collapsed on the seat in relief, “The stupid emergency services can't be darned to tell me that in the first place!!”, and a few tears leaked from his eyes, “Is he alright?”

 

“He has a concussion and he needed some stitches on his head, but yes, he's alright,” the nurse on the phone answered, which was all he needed to hear.

 

The police outside his son's room once he had arrived made the guilt start to settle in.

 

Peter had more than a feeling he could have prevented this.


	9. Visiting Hours

“Hey there little buddy,” Peter tried to look cheerful, “How're you holding up?”

 

Poor Ronnie had a thick white bandage over half the top of his head and forehead, and a scratch over one of his eyes. The exhaustion on his face stood out more than anything. The ever exuberant boy wore the weariness of a life put through the wringer.

 

The look on his face almost asked the question that Peter never could fully answer. 

 

Why didn't he just make her leave once and for all?

 

“Daddy…”, he whimpered, holding his arms out, and was quickly wrapped in a bear hug.

 

“I'm sorry,” Peter could only speak under his breath. It shouldn't have taken her getting arrested to make this stop. It shouldn't have taken this to finally get her away from his children.

 

“She hurt me, daddy,” Ronaldo whimpered again, almost a sob.

 

“I know. And she's never doing it again.”

 

“You always say that.”

 

“This time it's for real.”


	10. Aftermath

“I guess I was afraid of the repercussions that would happen if I had divorced her...would she have gotten the kids? I didn't want that risked,” he admitted to the police officer as he stood outside his son's hospital room. Peedee was snuggled up to Ronnie, both sound asleep.

 

“That's a common thing for a lot of domestic abuse survivors,” the officer nodded, still writing down statements. 

 

Peter's cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment at the label put on himself , “Look I'm not going there-”

 

“If not you,  your children are at least, you can't really deny that,” the officer.

 

Looking at Ronaldo's sweet face garnished with a bandage and weary eyes, he sighed.

 

Whatever it was they just had to live with, it was over.


	11. Unlike Father, the Son

Peter couldn't help but feel a little pride, seeing his boy blossoming before his eyes into the perfect heir to the self proclaimed Fryman business empire.

 

...Peedee. His youngest boy.

 

When that kid had hit fourteen and was legally able to use the fryers, he wasn't even needing the training. He just got straight to work. Those days of standing out in the front of the shop, attacked by seagulls while wearing the Frybo suit were long gone.

 

Whenever he boasted to people about the accomplishments his boy made, he sometimes had to correct their assumption that he was talking about Ronaldo. They'd then ask how the older boy was doing.

 

And Peter didn't know what to say.

 

It was a shame. Ronaldo had been the most precocious kid growing up. But then he just stopped growing. And Peter didn't really know what to do with him anymore.

 

Ronaldo never took on much enthusiasm in handling the business. He had his newfangled technology and doodads to get enthralled in.

 

Peter sure missed the days when he could put little Ronnie in the Frybo suit and watch him waddle along the boardwalk and hold out flyers.

 

But he was left with the parts of his son that desperately needed to grow up. He couldn't leave him to manage anything alone in the shop, and he couldn't even let Ronaldo sit in the passenger seat of the car without him playing with all the buttons on the dash.

 

He loved his sons equally, but he could only put his pride into one of them.


	12. The Eldest Son

“Why did you tell them that?”

 

Fryman had turned around, hearing Ronaldo address him after he'd waved off the last customers of the day, Steven and his dad. 

 

“What?”

 

“That I can't take care of myself?”

 

“Look it was just a little joke about you being clumsy,” he'd waved off. “You broke another plate while I was handling their order.”

 

“Yeah,” Ronaldo clenched his jaw, “Sure.”

 

It hadn't been the first time he'd heard that come out of his father's mouth.

 

_ “ _ _ This one _ _ can't take care of himself.”  _ He remembered how his father thumbed in his direction following that huge power outage. Was his dad being serious? True Peedee was more business oriented than he was, but taking care of himself??

 

Ronaldo, wanting to prove his capabilities to his father, and himself, had opted to stay out of the way of business matters, and just immerse himself in his work. He didn't ask for help on anything anymore, and he didn't try to get in the way of work. But whenever his dad did need a hand with the shop, Ronaldo would be glad to help. He couldn't help he was a little clumsy…

 

“I can take care of myself just fine,” Ronaldo muttered through his teeth, grabbing a broom to sweep up the broken glass, and dump it in the trash.

 

“You went for a whole week without sleep,” his father countered, punching in buttons on the register.

 

Ronaldo furrowed his brow as he remembered the whole ‘Bloodstone’ escapade, sighing deeply, “Whatever.”

 

It wasn't worth it.

 

He was going to just let it pass when he heard the man mutter, “It's like you decided to stay a kid.”

 

Clenching his fist around the broom handle, Ronaldo stood rigid, “Excuse me?”

 

Fryman shook his head, “You can't keep a job beyond this one, you can't talk sense, you can't go anywhere by yourself. You spend way too much time on your computer. It's like I'm dealing with two 14 year olds and this time Peedee's not the youngest.”

 

This was all stuff Ron had heard before, many times, but this was the time it all just broke the last straw.

 

“I didn't  _ get _ to be a kid thanks to you and mom.”

 

Fryman went rigid, “What??”, and turned around.

 

“I was always the one who kept Peedee under watch while you and mom yelled at each other over god knows what”, Ronaldo's hands shifted on the broom handle in a frustrated attempt to work out his sentences.

 

Fryman's face went stern, “You better watch your mouth. I did what I could to keep you and your brother safe from her-”

 

“Then why did you never  _ leave _ her??”, Ronaldo slapped his hand on the table, “Why did it have to take me getting hit over the head to stop it? You didn't do  _ anything _ to make us safer or make us happier. I was the one who had to stay up at night and keep Peedee asleep while you argued with her and I knew you'd never leave her. You always said you would...but you never did,” he huffed angrily, “I couldn't go to sleepovers as a kid because I had to watch Peedee. I couldn't sleep in during the day because if he cried she'd hurt him. If she tried to hurt him I got between them.”

 

Fryman took a step back. Ronaldo's voice never even raised, and it was even more shaking to hear it that way.

 

“I grew up  _ long _ ago,” Ronaldo snarled, “Because you couldn't do what you had to. So excuse me if I want to indulge myself a little and-”

 

Fryman couldn't control his loose temper, already starting into a by-the-book scolding, “Don't you talk to me like that! You don't know what I had to handle during all of that and you should be grateful of the outcome as it is!”

 

Ronaldo discarded the broom, folding his arms, “You're right. I'm  _ so grateful _ for the stitches in my head and the bruises I got every week. What a blessing.”

 

“I didn't want her to hurt you-”

 

“You didn't want her to do a lot of things! But she did them anyway because  _ you _ couldn't get the nerve to stop her!”

 

“It was complicated ok?!”

 

“So was my childhood! So is my life!”, Ronaldo threw his hands up, “And if you understood anything about what I had to go through, to help Peedee and myself survive the hell  _ you  _ put us through while married to her, you wouldn't be treating me like this.”

 

“It wasn't my fault you were hurt!”

 

“Then whose was it?? Mine??”

 

“Yes!! I mean, no!! I-”

 

Ronaldo's glare deepened, and he just turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen, ripping off his apron and chucking it on the floor in spite of his father's protest.

 

“Ronnie wait!!”

 

Ronaldo turned and faced him again, and spat

“You want me to be an adult?? I'll do the one thing you couldn't make mom do, and leave.”

 

“Where are you going to go?”

 

Ronaldo didn't even honor him with an answer.


	13. The Disconnect

Peedee could hardly sleep that night, still unconvinced by his father's claims that everything was going to be fine.

 

“Ron's always coming and going,” the man had excused, trying to avoid thinking about the argument they'd had, and the bitterness in the normally exuberant boy's voice, “He’ll be back by breakfast.”

 

Noontime hit, and still no Ronaldo. Peedee called Steven asking if his brother ended up staying at his house.

 

Steven hadn't seen Ronaldo, but for sake of helpfulness, yelled out that Koala Princess was a lame series, wondering if the teen would poke his head out of a couch cushion and retort. 

 

“Do you need help looking for him?”

 

“I don't know yet…”, Peedee admitted.

 

“Checked the lighthouse?”

 

“Twice.”

 

It was too obvious, even for Ronaldo. If he was running away, he wasn't going to go to the first place his family would look.

 

“Maybe you should just call him?”, Steven suggested softly.

 

“I would. But I'm almost kind of paranoid he'd tell me he never wants to speak to me again.”

 

“I don't think he'd ever do that,” Steven assured, “He cares about you a lot.”

 

“Yeah, and it wound up with him getting a lamp smashed over his head when he was ten years old,” Peedee sighed, “I'll try calling him later.”

 

Hanging up, he let his thumb linger over the contact label he had for his brother and chewed his lip in anticipation as he pressed on it and held the phone to his ear.


	14. Secretary

“What?”, an irritated, nasally voice answered.

 

Peedee's ears immediately grated, and he gagged under his breath, “ _ Lars _ . Why do I even have your number???”

 

“You don't,  I've got Bonzo’s phone.”

 

“Why??”, Peedee almost snarled. He'd rather eat the moldy tater tots in the freezer than have a full phone conversation with his third worst enemy (Behind his mother, and seagulls).

 

Lars waved his hand carelessly as he lounged on his mattress, “I'm his private secretary during his stay at Casa de Lame.”

 

Ronaldo muttered from the armchair he was hunkered on, “I told you not to answer any of the calls…”

 

“It’s your bro, he's not contraband,” Lars had the receiver covered while he talked then held it up to his ear again, “If that's what you're freaking about, he stayed the night at my house.”

 

“ _ Your  _ house?? Why would he be at your house??”

 

“That's what I want to know too, but I'm not even gonna ask,” Lars rolled his eyes.

 

“Whatever, just hand the phone to him.”

 

Lars pulled away from the phone, looking over to Ronaldo, gesturing to silently ask if he wanted to take over. His guest shook his head.

 

Lars gave a shrug, and handled the phone again, “He doesn't want to talk.”

 

“Oh that is a bunch of baloney, I'm his brother. Just give him the phone and-”

 

“He doesn't want to talk to  _ anyone _ ,” Lars repeated firmly, tone completely serious, “And I'm not gonna force him to. If you really wanna talk to him, then get your ass over here.”

 

“I wouldn't come over there if I was getting chased by a-”

 

- _ click _ -

 

Peedee swore into the receiver, still baffled why Ronaldo would go to, of all places, his ex-friend’s home.


	15. Attic Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written far before Wanted had even aired, so it's not particularly up to canon.

“I'm back!”, Martha sing-songed, two cups of hot tea in her hand. 

 

“Jeez ma, don't you knock?!”, Lars whined, being a stickler for privacy.

 

“I can't knock with my hands full, silly goose,” she teased her son, “Are you boys both comfortable?”

 

“I want the cup with the bee on it,” Lars completely ignored her question.

 

Martha rolled her eyes, and turned to Ronaldo, “You wanted the tea with no honey right?”

 

Ronaldo gave a nod, and a weak but visible smile as he used his manners, “Thank you for the tea and blankets, Mrs. B. And for letting me stay here overnight.”

 

“It's no trouble,” she assured sweetly, gently petting the top of his head. Ronnie was always such a sweet boy, like an adorable little animal that she could pick up and hug and cherish.

 

She then turned to her son, who looked like the equivalent of a dumpster raccoon with his scowl, and handed him the mug, “Here's your tea with extra honey,” she bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek which he immediately grimaced about.

 

“Ma!!”

 

“Oh don't be so grouchy, you'll end up with a funny face,” she teased gently ruffling his hair.

 

“My face is already a joke,” Lars snorted.

 

Martha gave another sunny smile as she exited the attic, “Holler if you two need anything.”

 

“Thank you,” Ronaldo answered.

 

Not wanting to be outdone, Lars screeched, “THANKS!!”, and took a long swallow of his hot tea, wincing as it went down his throat, coughing.

 

Ronaldo rolled his eyes, and slowly sipped from his mug, waiting until Lars stopped wheezing before he commented, “Your mom is nice.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“It's been awhile since I've had a sleepover here.”

 

“Yeah,” Lars muttered, “And half of them were awkward as fuck because your mom.”

 

Ronaldo nodded, staring ahead, not answering.

 

“...have you heard from her since- y’know?”

 

“No. And I'm glad.”

 

Lars glanced away, giving an awkward nod of assent.

 

“...I was just wondering since you like...came over really freaked out last night, and I didn't want to ask about it. And my mom was wondering what was up earlier when I went downstairs and left you up here.”

 

Ronaldo hadn't been too eager about telling Lars what happened between him and his dad, especially since he had the feeling Lars was going to agree with his father's  sentiments about him anyway.

 

“I just had a fight with my dad over stuff. He sucks ok?”

 

“What, did he ground you or something?”

 

“No. He just likes to tell everyone how he doesn't think I can take care of myself, and how I'm just a big clumsy doofus.”

 

“Well you  _ are _ a big clumsy doofus.”

 

“But he refuses to take responsibility for it,” Ronaldo huffed, “I spent almost a third of my lifetime raising my little brother while he and my mom duked it out on each other. I had to grow up so fast between the age of five and ten, I didn't really get to enjoy it.”

 

He stared into his tea, “He didn't do anything to let me or my brother know it was ok to just enjoy being kids. I mean...Peedee's not even 15 and he's already running the shop on his own half the time.”

 

He then shook his head, “I'm not  _ that _ big of a child like my dad thinks. I make my own money off the internet. I filed my own restraining order against my mother once I turned 18.”

Lars almost spit tea, “Seriously?? Does your dad know?”

 

“No. And I don't think he'd even believe me. But she's gonna be out of jail within the next two years more than likely. So I took the initiative to protect myself, and hopefully Peedee.”

 

“...that's pretty fuckin’ ballsy.”

 

“Glad you think so.”

 

“Ronnie!”, Martha called from downstairs, “Your brother is here!”

 

Ronaldo sighed and got up, “Guess I better go be big brother again,” and gave a slight wave, “Tell your mom thanks for the tea.”

 

Lars gave a slight thumbs up, and stared at his teacup, the warmth pooling on his hands.

 

Martha had painted the mug for him when he was still a baby. 

 

He sometimes forgot how lucky he was to have a mother like her.


	16. Retrieval

Maybe Ronaldo shouldn't have started the conversation with “I'm not coming back home.” It just resulted in Peedee losing his temper out on Lars’ family's front porch.

 

“We're brothers!! You're not supposed to leave!!”, Peedee's fists were clenched at his sides, glaring up at Ronaldo.

 

Ronaldo rubbed his face tiredly with one hand, “I'm an adult. I can make my own decisions, alright??”, he then shrugged, “And I figured you'd be fine handling yourself since you do that already. “

 

“So you were just going to leave me all alone?! Is that it??”, the boy suddenly shoved his older brother hard.

 

Ronaldo braced himself, hardly moving, and frowned, “No! I wasn't gonna just disappear on you! I just can't stand it there!!”

 

“How else was I gonna find you?! Where were you gonna live?? Here?”

 

“I would have found another place soon,” Ronaldo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I get it. I should have probably let you know where I was, alright??”, he folded his arms, “You can go home now. Dad probably is wondering where you are.”

 

The subtle bite in Ronaldo's voice made Peedee's stomach knot, “He's wondering where you are too.”

 

“Horseshit.”

 

“He is!! He feels bad about what he said, he's gonna-”

 

“Gonna what? Change? Favor me more?” Ronaldo looked down on his little brother, looking more world weary than he had in a long time, “I know that's not gonna happen. “

 

“Ronaldo, you know he cares about us-”

 

“He cares about  _ you,”  _ Ronaldo sighed, “He doesn't care if I decide to come back or not. He cares about his business, his livelihood, and you. Me? I'm just a liability he was responsible for until I turned 18. Give it a few months and he won't even notice I'm gone.”

 

Peedee was silent, staring at the ground as his big brother spoke, his tone somber and familiar. 

 

Then and there, Peedee realized he didn't like when Ronaldo talked like this...he didn't sound like Ronaldo. He sounded like Peedee.

 

“He doesn't care about me. Nobody does.”

 

Peedee shoved him again, “I do!!”, he finally snarled, finding the words, “Stop talking like nobody cares about you!! It's stuff like that that makes me think you'll just vanish one day and I'll never see you again and I don't want that!! Our family is screwed up enough as it is, and you're the closest family I have that isn't dad!”

 

Peedee remembered the days when he was cradled in his brother's arms, shrouded in safety from the nightmares, both fantasy and reality, and when things were at their worst, he would grasp for his brother's hand before his father's. The idea that Ronaldo was shoving him away before letting him return the favor was too painful.

 

Ronaldo soon found himself squeezed in a tight hug from Peedee, and a muffled plea.

 

“Please don't leave me alone. I don't want you to be alone either.”

 

Rigid, the older brother sighed deeply, and then went slack, almost in defeat.

 

“Okay.”

 


	17. Still Young

Not much had been said when Ronaldo had returned home that evening. His father had greeted him at the door, and Ronaldo returned the greeting with silence before going up the stairs to his room.   
  


Peter didn’t follow him up the stairs. He called the boys down for dinner, and nobody would show up. Ronaldo was too busy laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. And Peedee was too busy talking about anything and everything to ensure his brother was going to stay.

 

When the later hours struck, Ronaldo had managed to drown out whatever his brother was saying until he was sure that the boy had stopped talking altogether, having passed out from lack of sleep.

 

Ronaldo watched him for a short while. It felt different than when they were young, with Peedee still in the bars of the cradle, and himself still with round spectacles, but it felt more than a little familiar.

 

He was careful not to wake the younger boy as he tucked him in, and he headed downstairs.

 

Peter was sat at the kitchen table, weary and worried as he stared into his cup of coffee. It didn’t yet feel like his son had really come home yet.

 

Ronaldo stood in the doorway, slapping it gently with his hand to get his attention.

 

“...We should talk.”

  
  



End file.
